Figment
by Kurohane Ookami
Summary: "See, you left something important back in Hell, Dean." The woman drawled, putting out her cigarette in the palm of her hand with a disinterested expression. "And the thing is, you didn't even notice." Drabble series, M for language and theme.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy 18****th**** Birthday to Grim Kitty Kisa! Welcome to adulthood, sucker!**

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five, but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes. **

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic. **

-;-

It was shortly after Dean's little trip back in time to meet his parents for himself that… _she_ appeared.

Sam was out grabbing dinner from some nearby Thai joint- claiming that he needed to 'get some air' from the gloom that seemed to be surrounding his brother- complete bullshit, of course, but who was he to question what went around in Sammy's head?

Dean, on the other hand, was sitting at the small kitchenette table, Sam's laptop open and several tabs active while he actually looked for a new case. It was a change from the norm- rather than re-visiting his one true internet love, "Busty Asian ", he was actually putting effort into looking for the big bad monsters that were hiding under beds.

It was the sound of a lighter clicking that grabbed his attention. In an instant, his head snapped up while he grabbed the knife next to the laptop and threw it on instinct alone. What he wasn't expecting, however, was for a slender fingered hand to pluck the blade out of thin air and slam it down into the cheap wood headboard of _his_ bed.

"Well, I've certainly had better greetings than that." The woman blinked, raising a brow as she brought her cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply. "You should really work on your approach- I don't know how you manage to bring home girls when you're as prickly as a damn porcupine."

"Who the fuck are you?" the blond growled, slowly moving away from his chair and towards his bag of weapons by the door.

She was all curves- perfect hourglass figure with warm skin and wide hips, wearing a pair of short white shorts that were almost invisible from riding high on her thighs, and a loose white shirt that hung low enough to reveal a heavy amount of cleavage. Long brunette curls tumbled around her shoulders and framed a full face, silver eyes, pouty lips and high cheekbones included. She watched his movements with an almost catlike resemblance, her only movements to cross her white stiletto clad feet and to exhale the smoke from her cigarette.

"I suppose it depends on why you're asking, sweet-cheeks." She finally sighed, continuing to ignore Dean even as he grabbed his favorite weapon- his Colt 1911 A1 .45 caliber, standard with 7-round magazine capacity, and slid it into his waistband so as to grab several more thin knives.

"Probably because I have no fucking idea who the hell you are." The blond retorted sharply. "For all I know, Lilith could have sent you."

The woman barked out a short laugh, tossing her head back for a moment before resuming her former position as she reclined on the back of the headboard. "Lilith? Don't make me laugh, Dean. That sorry excuse of a bitch couldn't control me even if she tried. And really, while it's slightly flattering that you'd think I, of all people, am a demon… it would be incorrect. Actually, it's a little insulting. See, you left something important back in Hell, Dean." The woman drawled, putting out her cigarette in the palm of her hand with a disinterested expression. "And the thing is, you didn't even notice."

"What? Don't fuck around, lady." Dean snapped back, hand automatically falling to his gun. It seemed as though it would be the faster approach to taking on this threat, rather than the knives he currently held.

"Who said anything about fucking around? Actually, that's not really the correct term, is it? I know your humanity is still here, but you've got a little more… ruthlessness in you. You became a killer in Hell, Dean. And unlike good ol' Samantha, I know what you did. In great detail."

"You're lying."

The brunette snorted as she looked at the placement of his hand before flicking her silver gaze back up to his face.

"Am I really? Go on, I dare you. Shoot me." She challenged, relaxing against her perch. "After all, it's not like you can do anything to me when it just so happens that the same gun you're holding is standing right in front of you. Well, sitting, but that's more of a minor mistake than anything else."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean snapped, drawing the weapon from his jeans. The woman laughed lowly, examining her nails for a moment. "Answer my question, you white-eyed bitch."

"Well, well, well." She pursed her lips, looking up through half lidded eyes. "The little Hunter has grown a pair since I last saw him."

Dean growled, clicking the safety. He wanted answers. Now, preferably. And if he didn't get them… he was going to blow this woman's brains out.

"Well now, this just won't do." She tutted, raising a hand calmly and curling all but her index finger and thumb in, forming it into the rough shape of a gun.

"Bang."

As if electrocuted, the Colt flew from his hand through the air, landing against the wall and lying just out of his reach. Before the Winchester could do anything else, she was on him, straddling his hips and leaning far too close to his face. He flinched, recoiling away from her cool touch, even as he noted the cursive white ink that wrought intricate designs across her flesh.

"You know, I'm really going to have to start getting cross with you, Dean." She murmured, one hand cradling his cheek while the other was planted firmly over his hands. "Not only are you threatening me, but you seem to think you're high and mighty enough to get away with calling me a white-eyed bitch. That's not very nice now, is it?"

"What are you?" he hissed.

Her silver eyes lit up, and she let out a peal of gleeful laughter as she let a broad smile cross her face, pulling full lips into a genuine grin.

"Now you're asking the right questions, sweet-cheeks." She cooed, leaning down to brush her lips across his cheek. "But you're going to have to wait a while to find the answer to that question out. It seems Sam's home from the take-out joint. Enjoy your Thai, Dean."

Dean blinked, and then she was gone. A moment later, Sam opened the door to the motel room, a large bag of what was sure to be Thai take-out in his arms.

"Dean? I'm bac- what happened?" the younger Winchester asked, placing the bag down on the table and reaching for his own gun.

"I wish I knew, Sammy." The blond muttered, sitting up and looking over to the headboard of his bed. "I wish I knew."


	2. Chapter 2

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five, but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes. **

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

"Well hello again, sweet-cheeks."

Dean's head lifted sharply, and he cursed as it came into contact with the underside of the Impala's hood. Most likely drawing blood, considering the sharp sting that followed the impact.

Retreating and rubbing his now tender scalp, he all but glared at the brunette perched on his Baby's roof, one leg propped on the open door.

"You."

"Me." She flashed a smirk back at him. "Why, were you expecting someone else?"

"Not really." Dean said slowly before he uncapped his bottled water and tossed it in the woman's face. Call him strange, but he preferred drinking holy water nowadays. Made it a little easier to sniff out a demon in some cases.

She blinked at him, a small quirk of her brow the only movement she made as the liquid dripped down her face and shoulders.

"Really? You're still gnawing on the demon stick, Dean? How many times am I going to have to tell you that I'm not a demon and not here to kill you?" she deadpanned, flicking holy water off of her fingers. "Although I've got to admit, the holy water is certainly refreshing. I was almost expecting you to try and shoot me again."

"Don't tempt me." He snapped in reply.

"Ooh, feisty. Good thing Sammy's not around right now. Wouldn't want him to see you shoot me- oh wait. That's right- we already tried that route, didn't we?"

"Unfortunately for you, I usually come prepared." Dean shrugged, pulling his gun from his waistband and aiming it at the brunette's head.

"Seriously? You really want to try this again?" the nameless woman sighed, tilting her head back to stare at the sky in mild disbelief. After several seconds, she cracked her neck before hopping down from her seat on top of the car, seemingly careless as to how close Dean's gun was to her face. "I'm going to tell you right now that I never liked that damn Taurus. He's a complete and utter asshole. You shouldn't have given him the mother-of-pearl, by the way. His ego was large enough and then you went and inflated it to epic proportions."

"Excuse me?" Dean tilted his head to one side slightly, attempting to process what kind of crap just came out of this woman's mouth.

"Your gun, dumbass. You know, Taurus Model 92, nine millimeter, standard with a ten-round magazine. Not to mention stainless steel with mother-of-pearl grip." The woman huffed, gesturing at said gun as she spoke. "Jesus. And I thought the fucking car was bad."

It was all too much for Dean. This woman was insane- she was talking about cars and guns as if they were alive- it was something that he just couldn't even begin to think about seriously.

"I swear to God I'm going to shoot you if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on in ten seconds." he snarled, finger tightening around the trigger.

The woman's expression flickered from neutral to irritated in a matter of seconds, and before the blond knew it, a pair of very familiar silver and mother-of-pearl Colts were leveled at his head and chest respectively.

"I'm usually a very patient woman, Dean Winchester, but if you don't shut your goddamn mouth, I'm afraid I'm going to be the one firing bullets into your thick skull." She growled, eyes nearly glowing despite the suffocating August heat of Utah pressing in on them. "So sit your punk, wannabe ass down, and fucking _attempt_ to put the trail of breadcrumbs I've already given you together. Starting with _these_."

She slammed the hood of the Impala down before nearly hurling the pair of guns down on top of the shiny black surface. And under normal circumstances, Dean would have been having a panic attack about his poor Baby's paintwork, but at the moment, he was too busy trying to pick his jaw up from the ground.

He knew those guns like the back of his goddamn hand. The only question was…

"How the fuck did you get these."

"Ah ah, Dean. I've given you all the clues you need for now." She cooed mockingly, tapping his nose in a none too pleasant way before shoving past him and continuing to walk. She lifted a hand and gave a lazy wave over her shoulder.

"Let me know when you figure out my name, sweet-cheeks."

"How the fuck am I supposed to figure out your name? I don't even know what the hell you are!" Dean yelled, whirling around, only to blink at the lack of a person anywhere in sight. Doing a full turn, he also saw that the pair of Colts had disappeared off the hood of the Impala, leaving him alone with his gun hanging loose in his hand and several hundred questions running around in his head.

Who the fuck was this chick?


	3. Chapter 3

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five, but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

"You didn't tell him."

Bobby jumped, almost knocking over his mug of coffee, and twisted around in his seat to stare at the curvaceous brunette poking around his cluttered shelves with slight disinterest. Relaxing, he heaved a sigh before quirking a brow challengingly.

"What- that the Colt I gave him has a soul? How do you think he'd have taken that?" the older man snorted, turning back around to look through some kind of thick tome.

"Better than he's taking it now. After all, he did just dig himself out of Hell. Apparently he's convinced that Lilith sent me." The woman hummed, pausing at one particular title along the shelf before stepping around the piles of books in her path to take a seat across from the Hunter, only briefly glancing at the tome in front of him before examining her nails.

"Holy water?"

"It was surprisingly refreshing." She shrugged, adjusting her shirt. "But I don't think he's quite gotten the message yet."

"Did you show him the guns?"

"Of course I did. I pointed them at his head."

"And you wonder why he thinks you're trying to kill him." Bobby said dryly.

"He pointed me first." The brunette protested, a faint smirk crossing her lips. "I was forced to defend myself."

"So he still doesn't know." Bobby stated, getting to the point.

As usual.

"No." she shook her head, lips returning to a frown, ignoring Bobby's sigh of "_Really,_ _Sasha_" in the background. "Then again, his brother has no idea that I've visited him. And we all know that Dean's not about to ask for help. I'm a mystery he needs to figure out on his own."

"Stubborn idjit." Bobby muttered.

"They're our stubborn idjits, Bobby." She sighed. "Right now more than ever."

There was silence for several minutes. Just as Bobby was about to go back to flipping through the pages of his tome, Sasha flinched, one hand automatically moving to rub the side of her head.

"I wish those damn feathery bastards didn't bind you to them." He muttered gruffly, not bothering to look up, instead averting his gaze to look at his hands. "Always at their beck and call now."

"Bobby, you of all people should know I did it for him. Because no matter what, he is mine." Sasha answered softly, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the elder Hunter's cheek. "Besides, I've made it this long. I don't think an extra undefined amount of time is going to kill me."

Pulling back, she offered a sad smile, and then she was gone.

"That's what they all say. Idjits." The man muttered, shaking his head as he delved back into the dusty pages of the book.


	4. Chapter 4

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five, but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

The room was dark- blinds drawn, no lights still on in the room.

Dean felt like he was losing his mind.

Images flashed across his vision- people screaming, blood hot against his fevered skin- knives and poison slipping through his veins.

There was only so much that he could do to keep away the dark thoughts that plagued him, and tonight was not one of the nights that he was able to do so. Especially tonight- despite his waking silently for once.

He shivered. It was a good thing Sam was asleep- he didn't think he would be able to take his little brother's pitying stares for much longer night after night as he woke, shuddering and covered in sweat, reliving horrors he was all too thankful his brother wasn't forced to endure.

"He's your brother Dean. You should at least tell him the bare minimum of what you went through."

Faster than he thought possible, he was on his feet, but the expression on the woman's face as she looked at him was sorrowful. It took him by surprise, to be completely honest. The last several times they'd met, she was aloof and mocking. Now, however, she looked worn. Aged.

"Come on. Outdoors would be a better place for this conversation." She spoke before he could say anything. Silently, she walked over to the door of the motel and stepped outside, leaving the door open for Dean to follow.

He glanced over at Sam- still sound asleep, still calmly lying there like nothing was wrong with the world, before he followed the woman out the door.

"I want answers. Who are you?" he demanded as soon as the door closed behind him. "How the hell do you have the exact same gun- _guns_- that I have?"

The woman sighed.

"Dean, I've been trying to tell you since the last time I saw you. You just haven't been listening."

"I've listened. I don't believe it." He retorted, crossing his arms.

She sighed, turning on the toe of her white heels and moving further across the deserted parking lot, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts.

"Dean. Please listen to me." She said quietly. "I'm here for a reason. Just like you and Sam and Lilith and every other damn person on the planet. I've been around for a long time- longer than you'd think- and I haven't always looked like this."

Turning to face him, she studied his expression carefully before sighing. "I know you wonder why you were dragged out of Hell. I know who did it and why, and I even know how all of this is going to play out. But you don't, and I'm not allowed to tell you."

"And why not?" Dean growled.

She was in front of him a moment later, curls bouncing as they settled around her face, and her bright silver eyes studied him analytically.

"There are some things that aren't mine to tell you, Dean. No matter how much I want to." She murmured, cupping his cheek. "But trust me when I say that I know all too well what you went through."

"How."

It was like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His entire body just slumped, curling in on itself slightly. Despite his not knowing anything about this woman, there was something all too familiar about her, and his defenses were coming down much faster than he would like.

"How could you say that to me." He continued quietly.

"Because I was there with you." she whispered in his ear, stepping back and giving him a sad smile.

"What?"

She opened her mouth to say something, only to wince and screw up her features in pain. Retreating several steps, she waved off Dean as he stepped forward, inhaling deeply as she attempted to compose herself.

"Fuck. I must've told you something they didn't like." She grunted out, a hand reaching up to rub the side of her head. "Damn persistent bastards. Can't keep any of them happy."

"Who?"

Despite the obvious pain on her face, she let out a laugh and grinned at him, shaking her head in amusement. "Sorry Dean. Not supposed to talk about it. But hey- whatever, I'll say it anyway- 'Angels are watching over you', sweet-cheeks. And while I'm at it- you can call me Sasha!"

Before he could say anything further, there was a blinding white light, along with a shriek of pain that he could only assume belonged to the mystery woman. Blinking, Dean's eyes adjusted to the light again, but there was no sign of anyone- only a slightly charred space on the pavement where she had been standing moments before.

"Dean? What's going on- are you- whoa. What happened?" Sam asked from the motel doorway. The younger Winchester's hair was standing up on end in every direction, and there was still drool trailing across one cheek, but he was awake and clutching onto one of the shotguns like a lifeline.

Dean sighed.

"Sammy, there's something I gotta tell you."


	5. Chapter 5

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five, but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

"You know, there's been something on my mind for the last couple months, boys. And I can't really seem to understand what exactly it is you want me to do with Dean." Sasha snapped as she faced off with her most recent enemy. "First you tell me that you want me to do one thing, then you tell me to do another. And to be really honest with you, I'm starting to get a little pissed at all of you feathery pieces of shit."

Zacharaiah, to his credit, barely seemed ruffled- no pun intended- by the brunette's verbal barrage, instead looking calm and composed as always. Smug piece of shit he was.

"Seriously. You seem to be assuming that I'm going to go and tell him the meaning of life or something like that." Sasha seethed. "And, you know, it'd be nice if you didn't give me the migraine from Hell- yes, literal _Hell_, to get me to shut up. A note or something would do just as nice, you know."

"Well now, we can't have you telling him that he's the vessel." Zacharaiah shrugged as an explanation. "It's a valid concern, really, considering that you seem so bent on revealing everything to him."

"I want him to know what I am to him!" she hissed, whirling on her heel and stalking up to the well-dressed man. "He's not just some kind of toy that you can make me play with whenever _you_ feel the need! He needs support right now, you stupid sack of dicks, so I suggest you fucking let me go back down there and be the _"guardian angel"_ that you wanted me to be!"

"Or what? It's not like you can do anything to me." The man snorted, even as his eyes narrowed fractionally.

"You know damn well what. And for your information, I can threaten you all I want. You and I both know that I can't be destroyed or killed. Funny how soul forging works like that, isn't it?" Sasha sneered in return, crossing her arms and turning back around, staring balefully at the walls of the room around them. "And would it really fucking kill you to actually make an effort to bring me somewhere other than this fucking room? It makes me want to hit you- and trust me when I say that you _will_ be able to feel that."

"You stupid, ignorant little worm." Zacharaiah growled.

Sasha turned only slightly, quirking a brow emotionlessly as she stared down the angel behind her. One would have thought that he might have been ready to explode, the way his face seemed to darken to a rather unhealthy shade of red.

"You think you're above me, the way you act- thinking you're the Queen of the castle. But you and I both know that even though I can't kill you, I can control you. And don't you dare forget our little contract. The one where I just so happen to hold your soul in the palm of my hand." He snarled, stepping forward to hook his hand around her neck.

"It's kind of hard to when you're pulling shit like this." Sasha ground out as her hands rose to pull his hand off of her. "You may have my cooperation, Zacharaiah, but you'll never be able to sway me to your cause."

Silence fell- uncomfortably thick silence that probably would have made others cower behind something in some form of pitiful protection, but only made the two people glower at one another until Sasha finally snorted.

"If we're done here, I have other places to be."

"Fine. But know that next time, I won't be waiting with a warning."

"Whatever, asshole."


	6. Chapter 6

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five (okay, more than vaguely, but whatever), but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

"So…she was in Hell with you."

"Yep."

"How?"

"No idea."

Dean focused on the road, but even as his eyes warily kept an eye out for unexpected wildlife and the like, his mind was focused on the events that had transpired just a handful of hours ago.

Something about the way that the woman- _Sasha_, he mentally corrected- had disappeared didn't really sit right with him. Especially not with those last words. Now that he was thinking about them, a shudder ran up his spine. Not particularly due to the way that she'd said them, but _because_ she'd said them. He remembered those very same words being spoken to him from another life, from a different woman entirely.

"So, you didn't tell me this sooner because…?" Sam inquired, breaking the elder Winchester's concentration. Blinking, Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye at his younger brother before sighing and shrugging.

"I dunno, Sammy. Just didn't really seem like I should until I figured out what the hell she was."

"Well, you said she disappeared in a white light. Typically, that isn't related to demons at all." The younger male pointed out.

"And yet she says she's been in Hell with me. Now I don't know about you, but that _does_ sound like a demon." Dean countered.

"Awwww, talking about me again, sweet-cheeks?" a new voice cooed from next to Dean's ear.

Immediately, Dean swerved with a yell, Sam doing much of the same as he scrambled to turn and get himself into something that might have possibly been taken as a defensive position had it not been for the startled confusion plastered over his face.

The Impala screeched to a halt along the empty back road, dust swirling around behind it as they came to a stop, and it was only then that Dean finally turned his head to look at the smirking culprit seated way too comfortably in the back seat.

"Miss me?" she smirked.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean barked at her, running a hand through his hair. "It'd be nice if you didn't give me a goddamn heart-attack every time you show up, you psycho bitch."

"Well, I could do that, but I think this is a little more fun. Besides, it keeps you on your toes and provides me with some free entertainment!" Sasha grinned brightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder before she flicked her gaze over to Sam.

"And Sam. So nice to see you again too." She quirked her lips. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm Sasha."

"Uh…yeah. Nice to meet you?" the younger male replied, almost questioningly.

"So, you seem to have recovered from wherever you got zapped to." Dean stated slowly, resting his arm on the back of his seat. "Want to explain where you had to go in such a hurry?"

"Well, sweet-cheeks, like I said before. I'm not allowed to tell you. But it was the Boss. Apparently I'm in deep shit for a while until I've managed to redeem myself. But, until that happens- which is never, by the way- I'm on thin ice and he'll give me more than just a verbal lashing the next time I put a toe out of line." Sasha returned, features twisting into a sour expression. "And as much as I really don't want to piss him off, sometimes the temptation is a little too much for me to resist."

"So is that where you got that bruise?" Sam spoke up, gesturing to his own neck as a demonstration of what he meant and sharing a look with his brother when the brunette's gaze darkened.

"Unfortunately."

"Wait up here. I'm still confused. What do I have to do with anything that's going on with you?" the blond Winchester protested, holding up a hand when both Sasha and Sam opened their mouths to speak. "And for future reference, I don't want any of this mysterious crap."

The brunette in the back seat narrowed her eyes momentarily before she shrugged and leaned forward, revealing ample cleavage that had Sam's face flush bright red, while Dean rolled his eyes with a huff.

"Alright. I'll give you a hint. Boss is probably going to call my ass back so he can kick it, but whatever. Dean, I'm your "_Guardian Angel_". Something like that, anyway. I'm supposed to keep an eye out for you two morons so you don't do stupid shit that gets you stuck in Hell. Because let me tell you, just because there isn't paperwork doesn't mean that there isn't whiplash from that kind of crap."

"That's more than a hint." Sam snorted.

"Well, there's not really any other way to put it, Samantha, so I suggest you shut it. Like I said- I'm on thin ice as it is. I'm pretty sure as soon as Boss realizes where I am I'm screwed. So you can just shove it where the sun don't shine, pretty boy."

"You're my Guardian Angel? Seriously?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Hey. Don't start with me. There's a lot worse things I could be."

"Like a demon." Sam supplied.

"Samantha, so help me God I'll shoot you." Sasha grunted in exasperation, slumping over the seat. "It's bad enough I have to deal with that moron thinking I'm a demon. I don't need your nerdy ass thinking it too. I've had enough holy juice thrown on me lately, thank you very much."

"So you've already said you're not a demon. But you don't act like any of the angels we've met, and there's still the whole matter of how you've got the same weapon as me." Dean ran a hand through his hair. "This is just getting confusing."

"You're telling me. I'm trying to figure out how to keep everyone happy and not end up as a deep-fried side dish for the Boss." Sasha muttered, not bothering to look up from her slumped state. "And speaking of which, I'm already getting another call from the mother ship. Wish me luck, I'm gonna need it."

With that, she disappeared, leaving the brothers staring at the empty space she'd just occupied.

"Here we go again." Dean muttered, starting up the Impala again before pulling onto the road. "Sit back and wait, Sammy. It's like a friggen magic show."


	7. Chapter 7

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five (okay, more than vaguely, but whatever), but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

"Well, well, well. Look at the shape you're in, love."

"What- the fact that I'm totally covered in sweat or the fact that I just finished up with one of your lackeys?" Sasha huffed, turning around and examining the long slash in her top. "For the record, I really liked this shirt."

"I'll get you another."

"But I liked _this_ one." The brunette frowned.

The suited man sighed before stepping forward and gently running a hand down one of her hips, studying the brunette with guarded eyes.

"I am sorry, love."

"I know…" she muttered, crossing her arms. "But since you said you'd buy me another, I think I can forgive you. Just this once though."

As she turned on her heel to stalk away, the male couldn't help but comment, "And for the record, I've already bought you several. And another gift that I'm sure you'll enjoy tirelessly."

Sasha stopped and looked over her shoulder with a snort.

"Like what. The last extra gift you "bought" me tried to eat me." She deadpanned. "Forgive me if I'm not all for it."

"Relax love, it's only a jacket." The demon rolled his eyes. "And I'm still not quite sure why the hound tried to eat you, for the record."

"Could it possibly be because a certain someone has a strong connection with me who also happens to be really good at cheating death?" Sasha muttered with a roll of her eyes. "But then again, that makes too much sense."

"No need to get snappy, love."

"Crowley, so help me I will shoot you."

Surprisingly, that was enough to shut the male up, and Sasha growled something under her breath before sighing and turning fully to face him. "Sorry. Still a little touchy about all of that."

"I couldn't tell."

"I mean it when I say I'll shoot you."

"But does it work, is the question."

"It makes me feel better."

"Ah. The truth has been revealed."

_BANG!_

Crowley glanced down at the hole in his chest with a mild look of interest before looking back at Sasha, who twirled the silver gun around her thumb with an innocent expression.

"Ow."

"I told you so." She replied cheerily.


	8. Chapter 8

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five (okay, more than vaguely, but whatever), but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

"Pitiful creatures, souls." The angel muttered, pacing in front of the brunette woman. "Attached so easily to the most ridiculous things."

"Well hello to you too. Seriously Boss. We have got to stop meeting like this."

"Even after I warned you of the consequences, you returned to them." Zacharaiah continued, barely pausing in his monologue. "Why would you even begin to think that's a wise idea, you foolish whore."

"Whoa. First of all, I'm not the whore here, buddy. I've had three well rounded relationships that all worked out just fine, thank you very much." The brunette quirked a brow, holding up both her hands as if to halt the man. "And second of all, just because you hold onto my leash doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you. I don't know if you've noticed, but you're a dick."

"You will listen to me, _Adhara_, or I'll put you through Hell. Again." The angel growled, wings flaring out behind him for a moment before readjusting and fluffing themselves as he regained composure.

She crossed her arms and tossed her mane of curls over her shoulder, eyes challenging.

"Fuck you."

-;-

The only warning Sam and Dean had that there was a new passenger was when a heavy thud resounded in the backseat.

"About damn ti- holy _shit!_" Dean swore, swerving over to the side of the road and spinning around in his seat, Sam following suit and making some kind of noise in the back of his throat.

Sasha- or what seemed to be the brunette woman- was covered in blood. Head to toe, the woman was still as she lay sprawled across the backseat of the Impala.

"What the hell are we supposed to do here, Sam?" Dean snapped, hand automatically searching for a pulse, ignoring the pained groan that he received from the brunette. If he was going to give a flying fuck about her now, he was really going to be getting an earful from Bobby.

"_Bobby." _They spoke at the same time, turning to look at each other before Sam frowned.

"Dean, there's no way she'll be able to make it to Bobby's unless we manage to get her cleaned up."

"Well unless you have any other ideas, I suggest you shut up and let me drive." The elder Winchester retorted, wiping his hand on his jeans before revving the engine and tearing down the road. "Because otherwise, it's not going to be her you have to be worried about."


	9. Chapter 9

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five (okay, more than vaguely, but whatever), but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

In record time, the Impala was pulling into Bobby's lot, and Dean pounded against the horn as he all but leapt out of the car and pulled open the back door, gesturing to Sam to get the front door open.

He wrestled his arms under the limp form of the blood covered woman, trying his best not to get squeamish at the sight of blood on his baby's interior. There would be plenty of time for that later, once all of this had passed. If it passed at all.

"What the hell's all the racket out here!" Bobby bellowed as he pulled open the front door, only to meet with Sam's only startled face. At that, the older Hunter's eyes instantly sought out Dean, and by extension the form in his arms. And he instantly tensed as he recognized said form.

"Get her in here. Through the kitchen- you idjits know the drill by now." He barked, moving out of the way to allow Sam and Dean to pass. There was an unpleasant twinge in his chest as he caught a glimpse of Sasha's face.

He couldn't tell if it had been the feathery bastards or something else that had gotten to her, but judging by the other injuries he could see on her skin as is, he would bet torture. And if it was torture, it was probably that bastard Zacharaiah that she'd been raging about the last time she'd been by.

"Sam- get my damn kit from under the stairs. Dean, I need a pot of hot water and a cloth." He ordered, falling into the role that had been ingrained into him since he'd gotten himself into the hunting business. He moved after the pair, going straight to the cot by the window that he kept around just in case anyone decided to drop by.

His hands felt for a pulse, and after finding one, he checked over his shoulder to make sure that Dean was getting the water going.

"Here." Sam offered the large first-aid kit to him, and Bobby took it almost mechanically, unzipping it and pulling out enough bandages to take care of twenty Hunters injuries rather than just one woman's.

"Dean, I need that water!"

"Hold on a sec." the blond Winchester returned before a heavy clunk resounded through the kitchen. "Jesus, this thing's heavy."

"Put it right here." Bobby directed. "And then get the hell out of my way, boy."

When the older Hunter got like this, it was wise to do as you were told unless you felt like being on the wrong end of a shotgun. Dean definitely did not feel like being shot at at any point while they were here, and wisely placed the pot of warm water down on the carpet before retreating a safe distance to watch and wait with Sam.

Bobby wet the cloth and began dabbing at the coat of blood on Sasha's skin, starting at the arm closest to him and moving his way up, stitching up the wounds that were deepest and wrapping the rest with the bandages. When he finally came to her torso, he barely flinched, grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting through the fabric of her shirt with a muttered apology. He knew how bad she could get about her damn shirts, after all.

Her torso was definitely the worst, too, once he'd managed to pry the formerly white shirt off of her skin and revealing several large gouges in her stomach. As he ran his fingers over her ribcage, he could feel several ribs that were most definitely fractured at the least, and unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about those without causing more damage. Leaving those alone, he focused on the gashes, noting that they were done from a medium length blade- methodical and meant to seriously damage the tissue- before growling and getting to work on stitching them closed.

"Want to explain to me why you show up on my doorstep with a woman covered in blood, boys?" he finally spoke, breaking the long silence that had fallen over the room.

"Her name is Sasha. Apparently she's my "Guardian Angel"." Dean shrugged, acting as though it were nothing. "She showed up last week and then disappeared until she popped into the back seat of my car looking like that."

"Guardian Angel. Ha." Bobby scoffed with a humorless chuckle. "If there's one thing she's not, it's an Angel."

"What do you mean, Bobby?" Sam asked, his brows furrowing in the familiar manner that Bobby had had the displeasure of being on the receiving end of when the boy was growing up. "Do you know her?"

"Damn straight I know her. Know her real name ain't Sasha, either, if that's what you want to ask." Bobby replied shortly, moving down to her legs and checking to see if there were any wounds that he hadn't managed to find the first time before sighing and rinsing his hands off in the water that had by now cooled. "I've known her for years."

"Well, that would've been great to know." Dean said sarcastically, throwing his hands into the air.

"Don't take that tone with me. I didn't even know that she was seeing you until she came by a while back. Pissed off about something to do with her Boss- some dick named Zacharaiah. Only stayed long enough to say hello before she got summoned back to HQ. And for the record, if you call me I'm usually here, you idjit. If you wanted to know about her, you could have asked. Doesn't mean I'll tell you anything, but the offer still stands." Bobby growled back, pointing at Dean. "Did you at least tell Sam over here about what's going on?"

"Yes, Bobby." Sam replied, more subdued. "She told you about this?"

"Damn straight she did." The man snorted. "And on that note, that's all I'm saying. Keep an eye on her and let me know if she wakes up. Also, apologize for the shirt or there'll be hell to pay. Literally."

With that, Bobby left the room, leaving the pair of Winchesters to wonder what exactly was going on in their lives that was so wrong when Bobby knew more about someone involved with them than they did.


	10. Chapter 10

**This fic vaguely follows along Season Four and Five (okay, more than vaguely, but whatever), but as this is a drabble series, there will only be a couple of mentions of actual canon episodes.**

**Warning: Very strong language and slightly mature themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just the concept of this fic.**

-;-

"So she knows Bobby. And Bobby knows her. Don't you think it's just a little strange that he's never told us?" Dean asked, snagging a quick glance over his shoulder- as if the elder Hunter would appear out of nowhere. It was a definite possibility, given that the house was littered with towers of books that looked as though they were ready to topple at any given moment.

"It's _Bobby_." Sam raised a brow, giving Dean his trademark bitchface as he leaned back in the chair he was just slightly too tall for. "There's a lot of things he's never told us."

"…Point." The blond Winchester shrugged. "But I still don't like any of this."

"Dean, you came back from the dead. " Sam said slowly. "None of this is exactly giving us any reason to like it. But we're going to have to trust Bobby on this one."

"Still. It's all got to mean something. Her showing up out of nowhere and suddenly calling herself my Guardian Angel sounds just a little crazy." Dean muttered, brows furrowing in thought.

"You're both idjits."

Both Sam and Dean jumped in their seats before turning to look guiltily at Bobby, who had manifested back in the door and was giving them a deadpan stare.

"What- you honestly thought I was turning in for a nap?" he rolled his eyes, holding up a thin novel. "I was grabbing a damn book."

"But you said-"

"What I said doesn't really matter when it comes to her. She bounces back quicker than most." Bobby muttered. "And before you ask, I'm not telling either of you anything unless she asks me to."

"Well then, this is going to take a while." Dean huffed. "Because all she's done is show up and tell me she knows what I've been through in _Hell_ before pulling a disappearing act."

He groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration. "And she had two guns that happen to be the exact same as mine on top of that!"

"Seriously? You still haven't figured it out yet?" Bobby deadpanned. "And she's given you how many hints now? Four or five? I'm disappointed, Dean."

"Excuse me for trying to get my head wrapped around the fact that the last time I saw her, she was saying that her so called "boss" was calling her!" Dean retorted. "And then she turns up in my backseat looking like she got hit by a train!"

Bobby sighed, the tension ebbing out of his shoulders as he moved back over to his seat by the cot and sitting down slowly.

"She's stubborn." He admitted gruffly. "First time she met me she tried to put a damn bullet in my skull."

Sam raised a brow.

"Yep. She got me, too. Grazed my ear." The older Hunter snorted. "Still have the scar to prove it."

"What- did she actually like you or something?"

"Far from it. I managed to club her in the side of the head with a bottle of beer. After that, though, it was pretty easy to get along with her. Just feed her and keep her clean, and there's minimal bloodshed."

"That's comforting." Sam commented.

"I've known her for forty something years- probably closer to my whole life." Bobby continued, shooting Sam a dark look for interrupting. "She's slow to trust people and isn't a fan of most of the monsters out there, but once she warms up to you you'll be hard-pressed to find someone more loyal than her."

"Aw, you talking about me again, boys?"

"You shouldn't be trying to stand up yet, idjit."

"I'm an adult and I can damn well do what I please, Bobby." The brunette retorted, slinging her legs over the side of the cot with a hiss. "Plus, I gotta make sure the big old bag of dicks can't find me for a while."

"Which means you need Dean's colt."

"Whoa- what?" said blond blinked. "Dude. You are _so_ not touching my gun. You've got your own."

"Keep it up and you'll have none." Sasha smiled serenely. "Trust me Dean, you really don't want to piss me off right now. Especially not when I can still pick you up by the ear and throw you through the kitchen window."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cuffed him upside the head before he could.

"Just give her the gun, dude." He warned.

"But it's _mine_…" the elder Winchester whined.

Sam sighed, then snagged the colt from his brother's waistband and tossed it at Sasha, who caught it with practiced ease.

"There." She said smugly. "That wasn't so hard after all, was it?"


End file.
